


Romo Lampkin, Esquire

by sabaceanbabe



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: twelvecolonies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Romo waited in the shadows, which he had created by the simple expedient of loosening a couple of lights...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Romo Lampkin, Esquire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a recent challenge at [](http://community.livejournal.com/twelvecolonies/profile)[**twelvecolonies**](http://community.livejournal.com/twelvecolonies/) that involved a ficlet pairing up characters who never had a scene together in canon.

Romo waited in the shadows, which he had created by the simple expedient of loosening a couple of lights, until Mr. Lee Adama left his quarters for a consultation with their mutual client. Of course, Romo was supposed to be there, too, but truly, he had more important things to attend to. He smiled. Baltar and Adama would get along just fine without him and he could always watch the surveillance footage later, if he wanted a bit of entertainment.

He gave Adama a couple of minutes to be well on his way before he approached the closed door to his quarters. “Hatch,” he reminded himself, muttering under his breath as he rapped his knuckles against the metal. “On a ship, it’s a hatch.” The lovely Lt. Adama would answer or there would be no answer; either option suited Romo just fine.

No one answered and he knocked again, gave it a couple of minutes to be sure, then pulled the door open. It could have been locked – if it were his quarters, it _would_ have been locked, but not everyone was as suspicious a bastard as Romo Lampkin, Esquire – but instead it opened easily; a note on the mirror from mister to missus explained why. He pocketed the note.

Moving through the small space quickly, he looked at papers, books, knick knacks, photographs and other mementos, filing everything away in the compartment in his brain labeled “Adama.”

“Lee? I thought you had a meet…?” Anastasia Adama’s voice trailed off as she saw that it wasn’t her husband beyond the open hatch.

With an innocent smile, Romo turned toward her, studied her through his dark glasses, curious about this woman Lee rarely mentioned but whose ring he wore. She wore the dark blue uniform of a Colonial officer and he decided, given the unfastened collar, that she was just coming off duty. Which, now that he thought about it, the note Lee had left her more or less confirmed.

“Ah, you must be Mrs. Adama.” He deliberately sniffed at the air. “You smell so much better than your husband.” He held out his hand, aiming slightly to her left.

She ignored his proffered hand. “Lee isn’t here, Mr. Lampkin. He’s gone to meet with you and Dr. Baltar.”

“Oh, is it that time already? Well, then, I suppose I’ll be going.”

She took a step into the room. “What are you doing here, Mr. Lampkin?” Crossing her arms under her breasts, she added, “And how did you get in?”

“The hatch opened when I knocked. I came by to confer with your husband before our meeting, but I see I’ve miscalculated the time. I won’t trouble you any further and I apologize for my lack of manners.”

Her expression was skeptical, but she did step aside to allow him to pass, which he did with alacrity. He felt her gaze, curious and suspicious, on his back as he walked away down the corridor. It wasn’t until he turned the corner that he opened his left hand to look at the bright pink paper umbrella, the kind one found in certain mixed drinks, that he’d taken from Lee Adama’s side of their dresser.


End file.
